


Rebirth

by LouPF



Category: Adventures of Tintin (2011)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Time Loop, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 18:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13507677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouPF/pseuds/LouPF
Summary: Tintin goes to sleep the night Captain Haddock activates the globe, only to wake up four days earlier. He quickly realizes that he has traveled in time, and that the four days of his latest adventure keeps being looped around, no matter what he does. He and Captain try their very best to solve the problem and break the loop - but what if the key to fix this is hidden within them, and is not something they actively have to do, but rather have to experience?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw the Tintin movie for the first time a few days ago. I saw it twice, to be precise - and uh. This idea might have popped into my head in the middle of every single action scene in the entire movie.
> 
> You're welcome.
> 
> Also, this is my first Tintin fic ever, which means that I have a poor grasp of characters and accents and plot, so if you spot any mistakes, feel free to tell me! One can only improve, after all.

* = change of turn, aka when we change from one re-living to another, or when I tell instead of show  
^ = change of scenery within a re-living, aka two different scenes from the same go

*

Both Nestor and Captain insisted that Tintin was to spend the night at the Marlinspike Hall before they set out to their next adventure – finding the wreck of the Unicorn.

Tintin didn’t complain at all, as his apartment was still a mess – and besides, it was probably ice-cold by now – and the beds in the manor were far better than the one he had at home.

Nestor made supper for them, surprising Captain but not Tintin, and then they sat in front of the fireplace and talked about what to do next.

When it was time to go to bed, Tintin bid Captain goodnight, crawled underneath the covers, and fell asleep faster than he’d like to admit.

The next moment, when he blinked his eyes open, the sun was blinding him and the deafening sound of a bustling crowd filled the air. “Your face looks familiar, have I drawn you before?”

Tintin blinked in surprise, looked over at the artist, and realized immediately that he’d gone back in time. “O – occasionally,” he said, frowning in confusion and looking down at Snowy, who seemed none-the-wiser.

A few moments later the artist finished the drawing, Tintin paid him, and then he faced a problem. He’d read more than a few books about time-traveling and the consequences he could, and would, face. What could he do to not mess up stuff too badly?

Well, he could rush over to where he knew the Unicorn was, buy it and then hurry home before getting the scroll and disposing of the boat.

He could just go to the Marlinspike Hall, sneak into the cellar and retrieve Rackham’s treasure.

He could try and re-do everything as well as he could –

or he could go home without doing anything at all.

Humming lightly to himself, Tintin began to walk towards his home.

The rest of the day passed, and nothing out of the ordinary happened. When it neared bedtime, Tintin changed into his pajamas, crawled into bed, and went to sleep.

The next moment he opened his eyes and stared straight at the artist from the market.

“Your face looks familiar, have I drawn you before?”

Tintin blinked. Well then.

*

He tried a lot of things. He repeated the routine of doing absolutely nothing, and not much changed.

One time he tried to run over to the model of the Unicorn to buy it, only to hurry back home. Not much happened, and when he went to sleep he blinked and was face-to-face with the artist again.

Another time he tried to sneak into the Marlinspike Hall to retrieve the treasure, and even though taking it without Captain there left a sour taste in his mouth, the mission was a success. Yet, when he went to sleep that day, he blinked and was once more at the market.

It was at his fourth go that he started to wonder if anyone else remembered the first go. He was fairly sure that Sakharine didn’t remember anything, from the few run-ins he’d had with him already – and what a relief that was -, but what about the others?

What about Captain?

That was when he decided to do pretty much the same as he did the first time around, just so he could end up on the Karaboudjan. And if Captain didn’t remember anything, well… then Tintin would be his guide.

*

The window to Captain’s cabin was still open, and there was still song coming from within, but the song was sung clearly and without slurs, and in Tintin’s chest was a flare of hope.

He hurried to climb up the rope and entered through the window with far more grace than he had the first time around.

Captain looked up from a book he had on his lap, locked gazes with Tintin, and cried out in joy.

“Tintin!” he exclaimed, stumbling to his feet and stepping on the book he’d been reading in his haste to get over to him. “Ye still -?”

Tintin cut him off by giving him a tight hug. “Oh thank God,” he whispered. “You remember.”

“How did we get here?” Captain asked, after briefly hugging him back, and Tintin released him to pace across the small amount of floor there was. “I went to sleep, and then I woke up here! Four times!”

“I don’t know,” Tintin said. “I’ve been re-living the same day a few times, as well, but nothing I do seems to be able to stop it. This was my first try to get on the boat – nothing else worked.”

Captain groaned, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. “Oh, this is bad,” he muttered, holding a hand to his forehead. “This is very, very bad. Tintin, what are we going to do?”

Tintin took a deep breath. “Let’s just – try something. I’d like to wake up to a new morning. _Something_ has to work.”

^

Gunshots were being fired left, right and center, and Tintin swallowed thickly as he threw himself behind a barrel. Glancing to his left, he saw an opening, and took it.

He jumped out from behind the barrel and ran for the lifeboats – he was almost there, just a few feet more and then he could hop onto the boat –

then more gunshots sounded, there was a sharp pain at the back of his head, and Tintin fell forward.

The last thing he heard before everything faded into black was someone desperately screaming his name.

He blinked and was back at the marketplace.

He cursed.

*

Growling darkly to himself, Tintin tied a few more knots to secure the rope around the piece of wood. He climbed onto the wooden box containing _something_ and leaned out of the window. “Captain!” he called, as loudly as he could to be heard above the ocean and the ship.

A few moments later a familiar head popped out of the window above him, and a familiar voice called back to him. “Tintin! Yer alive!”

Tintin scowled. “Of course I’m alive!” he cried. “Move over, I’m coming!”

After repeating the procedure of the two previous times he’d been in this position, Tintin climbed in through the window and landed on his two feet on the floor – only for Captain to rush over to him. “Are ye alright?” he asked, grabbing his elbows and looking at him with something like worry in his gaze. “I saw ye be shot,” he said. “Are ye _alright_?”

Tintin was about to push away his hands and scoff at him, but before he could do that, he realized that Captain had been genuinely worried about him. He softened up. “I’m fine,” he said. “Really. I am.”

Captain released a deep breath and took a step back. “Good,” he muttered. “So, what’s yer plan?”

*

The plan was for Tintin to be shot again, apparently.

*

They tried several times to get onto the lifeboats without being caught while still managing to send a message to Interpol – yet it didn’t work out very well. Someone always caught them some way or another, and Tintin was shot nearly every time.

It became clear to him, then, just how much luck he’d had the first time around, if only one out of then tries was successful.

*

The first time Tintin and Captain managed to get into the lifeboat, Captain was trembling from head to toe in fright of being smashed by his own ship. So there they were – underneath the vast darkness of the night sky for the second time in their lives, pressed together from knee to shoulder and still somehow ice cold.

“We survived last time,” Tintin whispered, irritation boiling hot and thick in his stomach at the Captain’s nerves. He didn’t like being mad at him, but this whole “re-living time with no changes” thing was starting to get exhausting and old.

But still – Captain didn’t have to be so damned _scared._ Most likely they would survive this time, just like they had the first time – but if they didn’t, time would just reset.

A thought formed at the back of Tintin’s mind, then, and the irritation at Captain’s behavior vanished in favor of his stomach dropping in terror.

Because - what if it _didn’t_? What if they were supposed to die like this? What if _this_ was the way to stop the endless loop – dying in a blasted _rowboat_?

“I know,” Captain replied, and Tintin’s focus snapped back to the present. “But I’m still _scared_ , Tintin!”

And Tintin had to admit that he was scared, as well.

Screwing his eyes shut and swallowing thickly – he didn’t want to die yet, not like this, not here, not now, it had to end _some other way_ –, Tintin twisted his hand. His fingers brushed up against Captain’s, and he immediately twisted his hand further to grab hold of them.

Ignoring the sharp intake of breath to his right, Tintin swallowed again and kept his eyes closed. “I’m scared, too,” he admitted quietly, his words nearly drowning in the noise of the ship’s motors closing in.

There was a brief pause, and then Captain twisted his hand as well, causing their fingers to intertwine. It was a tad uncomfortable, what with their hands being mashed between their bodies and all, but Tintin held on with all his might and found that he didn’t really care.

^

The first thing the next morning, after the two of them had calmed down but also cheered at surviving this far for once, Captain went over to the cabinet in the back of the boat.

Tintin watched him carefully as he pulled out the bottle of whiskey. He was scared of what Captain might do with it, and how everything might end if he got drunk. He thought he’d managed to repress the urge to drink alcohol the first time around, and he wasn’t sure what the outcome would be if he hadn’t.

“See this?” Captain said, turning to Tintin to raise an eyebrow at him while lifting the bottle into the air.

Tintin raised his own eyebrow, refusing to let his fear show, and nodded. “Yes?”

“It’s _shit_!” Captain said, turning away from Tintin to hurl the bottle as far away from the boat as he could. It made contact with the water with a satisfying splash, and Tintin looked back at Captain with a small smile.

“Yes,” he agreed. “It is.”

^

A bit later, when Tintin had managed to sort through his thoughts, he spoke up with the question that had been at the forefront of his mind since he woke up the previous morning. “You still know the way to Bagghar, I assume?”

Captain’s reaction to the question was the exact same as it had been so many days ago, face tightening in a heartfelt scowl. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again!” he rumbled, slapping his knees and standing up. “What sorta stupid question is that!?”

Tintin’s shoulders slouched in relief as he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. If Captain hadn’t known, he’d been at a complete loss of where to go and what to do. “Cap, that’s -” he began.

“Gimme those oars!” Captain interrupted sharply, standing up and grabbing the oars with a grunt. “I am master and commander of the seas!”

Tintin, remembering how this had fared the last time, yelped and ducked as Captain swung the oar in a wide circle. He missed the top of Tintin’s head by only a few inches, and Tintin let out a relieved breath at not having to pass out again. “Watch it, will you?” he snapped.

Captain looked down at him with wide eyes, heavy oar held between huge hands, and winced. “Is that what happened last time?” he asked, scratching his head while still managing to hold onto the oar with his other hand.

“Do you mean: did you knock me out with a gigantic piece of wood?” Tintin snapped again, standing up to half-heartedly glare at him. “If so, then yes!”

“Ah,” Captain said, and fastened the oar in it’s supposed place without looking at Tintin at all. “Sorry ‘bout that, lad.”

Tintin muttered something darkly under his breath and sat down opposite of him with a huff. “I’m not rowing,” he said stubbornly, crossing his arms with a pout.

“Aye, yer not,” Captain agreed. “Wouldn’t trust ye on getting us anywhere.”

Tintin’s pout turned into a scowl.

^

Tintin noticed the little things. He was good at stuff like that – so it was no wonder he noticed that Captain was getting cold before he started complaining. It wasn’t hard to notice, either, shivering as he was.

Tintin cleared his throat and looked up at Captain with an exasperated look. “Let’s not start a fire this time, shall we?” he said, mockingly sweetly, and rubbed his hands together. Captain wasn’t the only one freezing, and the ocean wasn’t exactly a nice place to have a vacation if you were sensitive to the cold.

Captain looked down at his lap and continued to row. “Aye,” he muttered. There was a beat of silence. “But I’m still cold.”

Tintin rolled his eyes. “Right,” he said, and straightened his back. “Put down the oars for a minute. Making progress can wait. I’d rather not start over already.”

Captain blinked. “What?”

“Put down – the _oars_ ,” Tintin said, drawing out the words as if speaking to a child while leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

Captain tugged his hands away from the wood as if it had burned him, and folded them in his lap with an uncertain expression.

“Good,” Tintin said, nodding once. “Now get over here.”

Captain blinked again. “What?” he repeated.

“Great snakes, man, I’m speaking English!” Tintin exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air before rubbing his eyes tiredly. “ _Get over here._ ”

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” Captain said, standing up and making his way over to Tintin before sitting down.

“Good,” Tintin repeated, exasperated this time, before scooting closer and nudging at Captain’s arm with his elbow.

Captain made a confused noise and frowned, but lifted his arm nonetheless. “Tintin, what are ye -” he began. Tintin ignored him in favor off wrapping his arms around his torso and resting his forehead on his shoulder.

Captain squeaked.

“Hush with you,” Tintin muttered, releasing a deep breath at the comfortable warmth of another human being – a warmth that was painful and soothing at the same time. “You’re cold, right?”

“Body warmth?” Captain asked, and there was a certain edge to his voice. He uncertainly let his arms drop, one coming to drape across Tintin’s shoulders. Tintin welcomed the warmth and discretely snuggled closer.

“Yes,” Tintin said simply, nodding against his shoulder.

“Okay,” Captain said, and swallowed noisily. “Okay.”

^

Yet, even though they kept Captain’s pyromaniac tendencies in check, the plane came crashing down on them and opened fire – but Tintin was prepared and shot them down, as Captain and he had agreed beforehand that it would be way faster to fly with the plane than it was to row.

^

“Tintin!” Captain called out from behind him, voice sounding far too dull when there was nothing but sand to help it echo. “Tintin, we must sleep sometime! I’m tired, and I know you are, as well!”

Tintin turned to glare at him and was about to snap at him to keep up – but the words were snatched out of his mouth when he saw Captain standing there, hands on his knees and framed by the sunset behind him – and Tintin thought, for the first time since he’d met him, that he was beautiful.

“Fine,” he sighed. “But you know it gets awfully cold in the desert after night falls,” he said, as he promptly sat down in the sand and crossed his arms.

“It does?” Tintin nodded. “Well, that can be solved easily,” Captain said, waving his hand dismissively. “Come here.”

Tintin started. “ – I beg your pardon?”

Captain rose an eyebrow and crawled over to him in the sand. “I’m speakin’ English, lad,” he said, and Tintin was instantly reminded of his own words when he’d, ah, _forced_ Captain to accept his body warmth in the boat.

“You want to share body warmth,” he said, as a light went on in his head, and Captain nodded his head. “Okay.”

When Captain made no move to neither hold nor be held, Tintin rolled his eyes and scooted over, wrapping his arms around his torso and wriggling closer until they were pressed flush together, legs tangling until they couldn’t anymore be sure of where one began and the other ended.

They said nothing more as they slowly slipped from consciousness, but Tintin fell asleep with the reassuring sound of Captain’s heart beating in his ear, and found that he had nothing to complain about.

^

“Your face looks familiar, have I drawn you before?”

Tintin blinked. Oh. They must’ve died. Thirst, cold, whatever... he sighed. One more attempt it was, then.

*

Time kept resetting, no matter what they did – so after a quick discussion, they decided to try and row all the way to Bagghar instead of hijacking the plane.

*

It took five tries to avoid the plane.

Tintin died two times while he tried to get into the lifeboats. One of the times the plane showed up they were shot, and the two other they died in the crash or during the storm.

The whole sequence where they were rowing or in the boat was incredibly boring, as well, since they had little to do while either waiting or rowing. That, of course, sparked conversations about everything and nothing.

*

“Can you tell another story?” Tintin asked, more out of curiosity and boredom than anything else, the fifth time they sat in the rowboat.

“Another story?” Captain said, and his eyebrows rose into his hairline in surprise. “Ye want another story?”

“Yes,” Tintin said, and nodded eagerly. “You’re a great storyteller.”

Captain laughed, a round and warm laughter, and continued to row with a grin on his lips. “That I am,” he agreed, and laughed heartily once more. “Maybe I got sum siren blood in my veins, eh?”

Tintin smiled, heart swelling at Captain laughing genuinely again, and sat back to enjoy the new story. He _was_ a story teller, after all. Perhaps he could use some of the elements in Captain’s tales to help in his own, later on, if they ever got out of the time loop.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

*

Tintin stared up at the clear blue sky from the bottom of the boat, hands folded on top of his chest and back aching painfully, and sighed. “What did you say your first name was, again?” he asked, and the repetitive sound of Captain rowing ceased.

“What do ye mean?” he said. “Ye don’t remember?”

“Sorry, no,” Tintin said, and shook his head even if Captain couldn’t see him. “I was a bit busy thinking about your last name at the time you told me.”

Captain grunted and resumed the rowing. “Archibald,” he said. “My name’s Archibald.”

“Archibald,” Tintin repeated. “I like it.”

“I prefer Haddock,” Captain said. “But call me what’ver ye like.”

“Haddock or Captain?”

“Either,” Captain said. “I dun’ mind either way.”

Tintin hummed and returned his focus to the clear, vast blueness above. “Acceptable answer,” he said, and Captain laughed softly.

*

The first time they managed to avoid the plane they spent a few days rowing towards Bagghar, and then time reset itself. Tintin blinked, was back on the stool, and sighed.

That wasn’t the way to go, either.

*

“Alright,” Tintin said, and grabbed the pen that was lying on Captain’s table. Said Captain was watching him intently from across it, a solemn expression on his face. “So, what do we know works out this far?”

“We gotta meet each other,” Captain instantly said. “So ye gotta get onto me ship.”

“Right,” Tintin muttered, noting it down on the paper. “And we have to get on the plane. That’s required, because we have to get to the Sahara and Bagghar.”

Captain nodded. “We haven’t got any further than that,” he said, and Tintin sat back in his chair and groaned.

“I’ve relived this day so many times now that I have lost count,” he sighed. “And _this_ is what we know!”

Captain reached over to pat his shoulder, and strangely enough, it managed to cheer him up.

^

Tintin had died many times before. He’d been shot. One time he drowned, and a few times he’d been stabbed. Captain had told him how horrifying it was to watch him die, but Tintin had just brushed it off and not thought too much about it.

Now, however, when Captain’s grin had vanished in favor of a shocked expression and he’d fallen to his knees, blood pouring out from his chest and onto his hands, Tintin found himself stumbling to his knees in shock.

He screamed, and it was louder than he’d ever screamed before – and it was somehow a yell and somehow a cry and somehow a primitive roar –

His heart tore apart, soul crying out in pain and shock and fatigue, as he saw his very good friend’s eyes fill with dawning understanding and horror.

“Captain!” Tintin cried, and he was about to rush forward, but someone was holding him back and – and Tintin _knew_ that they’d wake up again, but maybe they _wouldn’t_ , and – “ _Haddock_!”

Tintin blinked, and he was back in the crowd at the market.

He felt like sobbing in relief, but only smiled stiffly and handed the artist his money.

*

Then they finally – _finally_ – managed to survive long enough to get to the Sahara for the second time.

Two times before had Tintin sat foot in the desert, and now, when Captain was faring better than him and their roles were swapped, he hung on to every small touch between them, even when it was unbearable heat that sparked whenever their hands brushed.

“Can’t you,” Tintin muttered, eyes closed, as he dragged his feet behind him. “Can’t you suddenly get your memory back once more, Cap? You tell the story of Sir Francis so well.”

“Blimey, lad!” Captain exclaimed, but the fight was gone out of him. “There are only so many times a sailor can tell his story before it gets old!”

“Please,” Tintin said, and it was barely a hush in the nonexistent wind.

Captain was looking at him, he could feel it, and when he opened his eyes and looked back, the sailor’s gaze was foggy with worry. “…aye, Tintin,” he said softly. “I will.”

^

“Captain,” Tintin breathed, a bit later, when they were still dragging their feet through the sand and Captain had finished his story. “I’m so tired…”

“We’ll get there eventually, Tintin,” Captain replied softly, and Tintin screwed his eyes shut and wanted to cry.

“I mean I’m tired of this whole... _loop_ thing. I’m tired of adrenaline, of dying, of seeing _you_ die -” he broke himself off there, bringing his free hand up to rub at his eyes. “I just want to have some peace again. It’s too much adventure for me.”

There was a pause for a moment, and then Captain spoke up. His voice sounded like the sand they walked on felt – unsure and wavering and not really safe enough to trust. “We could take a day off,” he said. “When time resets,” he clarified, when Tintin shot him a confused look through half-lidded eyes. “We can just stay in our respective places. Then the day after, ye come back to me ship.”

Tintin thought about it. It certainly wouldn’t harm him to have a day off to rest.

He nodded. “Alright,” he said. “I can live with that.”

And so it was agreed upon – they would have one calm day after this.

*

Tintin knew that he should appreciate the day he “got off”, but he found himself restlessly pacing across his floor with a frown on his brow.

He ended up writing a long list of things they could attempt to do – burn the scrolls; take one of them; hurry back to Belgia once they got one of the scrolls -, and when he didn’t do that, he found himself longing after Captain’s warmth and voice and scent – yes, even his mere _presence_ would have been better than the haunting silence and chill of his apartment.

He went to bed, troubled by the realization that he’d rather have an endless loop with Captain by his side than a peaceful life without him, and worried about where and when he would be when he opened he eyes.

He blinked, of course, and was back in the market.

*

He was not the only one relieved when the pair was reunited once more.

*

It took them two more tries at the Sahara desert before they finally managed to move onward to the city – and that was when they realized that the biggest job was actually in front of them.

*

They tried everything. Warning the government, burning their scroll, rushing back to Belgia to retrieve the treasure within the Marlinspike Hall’s cellar, gathering all the scrolls, and on, and on, and on.

It led to Tintin forgetting where one day began and another ended – some days he’d be killed on Captain’s ship, some days he’d drown, some days they’d make it all the way back to Belgia only to start over again when Captain opened the globe. It was all the same. Failure, and failure, and even more failure. He just wanted the loop to _end_ , Goddamnit! Was it really too much to ask for?

*

At one point, they managed to get tangled into the same mess as they had the first time around – with Tintin fighting the falcon for the scrolls on the loose dock, and Captain being threatened by Sakharine back at land.

“Forget it, Tintin. Take the scrolls!” Captain called out to him, his arms and feet tied and with Snowy dangling in a rope beneath him.

“What?” Tintin called back, partially in surprise and partially in shock, while he still held on for dear life to the scrolls in the falcon’s claws. “If you die we have to start all over _again_!”

“What are you blabbering about?” Sakharine spat, from his position behind Captain.

Both Tintin and Captain ignored him.

“But maybe it’s supposed to be like that!” Captain said, struggling against his confinements and shooting Tintin a desperate look. “Maybe this is the way everything ends.”

Tintin whimpered quietly, fighting the growing sense of dread in his stomach, and gritted his teeth. “I’m not risking it!” he cried, and some of his emotional turmoil must’ve bled into his voice or expression, because Captain blinked in surprise. “I’m not going on without you!” Tintin continued. “I _can’t_ go on. Not without _you_ , Haddock.”

Captain was about to say something, but the words died on his lips and he opted for staring at Tintin with wide eyes. Tintin held his gaze, chest heaving with every harsh breath he took, and hoped that Captain would be able to read the sincerity in his eyes.

“Tintin,” Haddock breathed, lips parting and the corners of his mouth twisting up in a soft smile.

Tintin let go of the scrolls.                           

He refused to take the chance.

He couldn’t go on alone.

^

Then Sakharine managed to escape with the scrolls _again_ , for the _fifth time_ , and Tintin sat down heavily in one of the beach chairs.

“We’re never going to get out of this loop,” he sighed, ribs clenching painfully around his heart as the feeling of helplessness settled in his chest again. “We’ve failed a few _thousand_ times already.”

“ _Failed_?” Captain said, frowning in part-worry and part-irritation. “Do ye want me to repeat my speech again, lad?”

“You might as well,” Tintin muttered, standing up and crossing his arms before walking a few steps in the other direction. “We’re still stuck in a time-loop.”

Captain stalked towards him, and Tintin was embarrassed to say that he hadn’t been expecting to be shoved into a beach chair _again_ \- but he was – and - and then, when Captain leaned down from above until their noses were almost touching, comforting and threatening and everything Tintin needed at the same time, he closed his eyes and fought the arousal coiling at the bottom of his stomach.

*

The third time they decided to watch the opera and see if they could stop things from escalating, Captain decided to tell Tintin that he’d been wrong.

“Ye know I never drank that bottle of alcohol, right?” he asked quietly.

Tintin blinked, looked away from the Nightingale, and frowned in confusion at his partner. “What are you talking about?”

Captain sighed, shifted in his seat, and leaned even closer to whisper harshly at him. “Ye said ye could smell alcohol on me,” he muttered. “When we were here the first time around.”

Realizing what he was talking about, Tintin nodded. “And?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I never drank that,” Captain repeated. “I was hit over me head by Allan. The glass shattered, and the whiskey was all over me!”

Tintin’s chest tightened suddenly and harshly, and he drew a sharp breath before turning away and screwing his eyes shut.

“Tintin?” Captain asked, worriedly leaning closer, and Tintin caught a whiff of salt air and tobacco. “Are ye okay?”

Nodding sharply, Tintin drew a deep breath and tried to swallow the thick clump in his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He rubbed at his eyes to try and ease the prickling sensation that always came before he cried, and turned to grab Captain’s arm in a tight hold before pulling it closer. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, scooting his chair closer to the other’s so he could bury his face in Captain’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

There was a pause where Captain said nothing, and then he brought up his other hand to cup the back of Tintin’s head. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, lad,” he muttered, burying his fingers in his hair and slowly threading his fingers through it.

Tintin shuddered at the contact and tightened his hold on Captain’s arm, heart constricting almost painfully within his chest.

They sat like that for the rest of the opera – Captain quietly playing with Tintin’s hair, and Tintin breathing in Captain’s scent with each inhale that passed through his lips.

It was the first opera that Captain didn’t complain his way through.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tintin realizes exactly why he cares so much for the Captain, and things escalate once they realize the feeling is mutual.

One of the main problems with how things progressed, was that Tintin _needed_ Snowy to get onboard the Karaboudjan. This was not only because of his sentimental connection to his dog, but also because he needed him to gnaw over the ropes tying his wrists together.

It was probably pure luck that made sure that Snowy managed to get onboard every single time they relived the four days of their adventure. The first time it didn’t happen, Tintin sat in his cage and bit his lip, worrying about whatever he could do to get out when he had literally nothing to help him.

Then suddenly, the door slammed open, and Haddock all but fell into the room. “Tintin!” he whispered harshly, and Tintin lit up.

“Haddock!” he whispered back, pushing himself up into a standing position. “Thank God!”

“We gotta get ye out,” Captain muttered, hurrying over to the cage to see if he could cut the ropes, but before he came that far, the door slammed open again, and two crewmen entered the room.

They gasped upon seeing him, and lunged forward – and Tintin stood there, inside of the cage, and could do nothing but watch as Captain fought his own crew to save him.

As he threw a punch that knocked one of the men unconscious, Tintin’s lips tilted into a soft smile. _I love him so much_ , he thought, and –

his eyes went wide and he sat down with a thud as he realized that he was in love.

^

Of course he was in love! How could he have been so blind!?

*

They’d been rowing in silence for a while, when suddenly Haddock pushed harshly at the oars, covered his face with his hands, and screamed.

Tintin shot up, worry clenching in his stomach, and he was at Captain’s side within moments. “Cap? Cap, are you okay?”

Without a word, Haddock reached out to grasp Tintin’s shoulders. “I hate this boat,” he growled, low and quiet and dark, and Tintin shivered. “I hate this loop. I hate everything about this! I just want to move on!”

Tintin, who was far too familiar with that feeling, teared up and pounced forward to hug him tightly, wrapping his arms around his chest and twining his fingers together behind his back as he buried his face in his chest. “I know,” he whispered, as Captain, without hesitation, hugged him back just as desperately. “I know, Haddock, I know.”

Haddock moved one hand up to thread his fingers into Tintin’s hair, resting his forehead on the top of his head, and cried.

It didn’t take long before Tintin was sobbing, as well – and there they were, two grown men in a boat in the middle of nowhere, crying because of seemingly no reason.

They had all reason. Of course they had.

If nothing else, Tintin knew now why he reacted so strongly to Captain being upset.

*

They only tried doing the whole “crane fight” thing a few times – one of them ended in murder.

*

“Oh, thundering typhoons,” Tintin breathed, as Sakharine fell from his crane, pushed over by Captain’s, and hit the ground with a dull _crack_. “Oh, _no_.”

He slowly walked over to where he’d fallen, and Captain rushed out of his crane to join him a few moments later.

There was blood pooling around Sakharine’s red robes, and his eyes were staring emptily up at the sky.

There was no doubt in Tintin’s heart that Captain now was a murderer.

“I killed him,” Captain whispered, taking a step backward and covering his mouth with one hand. “Did ye see that, Tintin? I killed him.”

“You did,” Tintin said, and nodded slowly.

“Oh, God,” Captain breathed, in shock at his own actions.

During the next few re-lives Captain spoke very little, and only very quietly – but just as Tintin was starting to get worried about his mental health, he changed back to his normal self. When Tintin inquired about his silence, he only shook his head and smiled softly.

Tintin didn’t dig.

*

Then one of the times ended _nearly_ in murder.

*

Tintin stared, with wide eyes and heart in his mouth and he didn’t dare _breathe_ as the crane he knew Captain was seated in groaned and –

it tipped over, slowly and terrifyingly fast at the same time, and Tintin was running before he even knew it because Captain was _there_ , on the _ground_ , not moving at all, and he knew that if he’d died then they’d already be starting on anew, but what if _this was it, what if they’d done it correctly this time, what if he was **dead**_ **_and had left Tintin alone_** –

“Haddock!” Tintin cried, falling to his knees next to his old friend, turning him around to look at his face. “Haddock – Cap – no, no, no -!”

A sob wrecked through him at the thought of his death alone, and Tintin’s breath came out in muffled gasps.

His fingers went to Captain’s throat, to check his pulse, and – and it was _there,_ his heart was beating, he was _alive_ –

The tears streamed down his cheeks, and while his wails quieted down the salty drops of emotion continued to pour even faster than before in his relief, because he wasn’t gone, he wasn’t gone, Tintin still had time to tell him -

“…Tintin?” came Haddocks’s voice, small and thin as he cracked his eyes open. “What – why are ye cryin’?”

Tintin had no answer beyond pulling him up into a bone crushing hug while chanting _“you’re not dead, you’re not dead, you’re not dead_ ” over and over again.

Then he blinked and Captain vanished, the night turned to day and the chaos and wreck of mangled metal parts disappeared to be switched out with a crowd of people.

“Your face looks familiar, have I drawn you before?” the artist said, and Tintin screamed.

*         

“Why don’t we just drown ourselves?” Captain asked, dejectedly, as he sat there on the boat with an exhausted expression.

Tintin, who’d been rubbing his hands together and petting Snowy every now and then, started and looked over at him with surprised eyes. “What?” he breathed. “No! I don’t want to start over again!”

“Ah, but…” Haddock said, and when he looked back there was something slimy and dusty and old in his eyes. “Maye it’s su _pposed_ to end like this. Maybe this is what we’re supposed to do.”

Tintin shook his head, and the motion was the sharpest he’d made in several days. “It is _not_ ,” he said, seizing Haddock by his shoulders and meeting his gaze with a determined frown. “There is a way out of this,” he insisted, nodding as he frowned harder to strengthen the message he was trying to send. “And that way keeps us _alive_. I refuse to _willingly_ leave this world. I refuse to willingly leave _you_!” He inhaled deeply, hard frown fading into a soft, exasperated one. “Not when there are so many great stories out there.”

Captain’s expression – it – somehow it broke and mended again in the span of a few seconds, eyes going wide and unreadable and lips parting to let out a small breath. He looked – he looked broken and sweet and hopelessly hopeful all at the same time, and Tintin’s heart ached.

 Just like he’d done so many times before, in this position, Haddock raised his hands – but instead of grasping Tintin’s upper arms like he expected, warm calloused palms came up to cup his cheeks, one thumb running lightly across his cheekbone.

Tintin’s breath hitched in his throat as one of Captain’s hands slid down to caress the side of Tintin’s neck – his ribs clenched painfully around his heart and there was a moment where he couldn’t _breathe_ , and then his pulse raced ahead of him a hundred miles per hour.

Slowly, almost without Tintin’s consent, his own hands slid up from Haddock’s shoulders. One came to rest on his cheek, the other to tangle into the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck.

He leaned closer and tilted his head slightly, lightheadedly and absentmindedly noticing that Haddock did the same – and as his gaze flickered from Captain’s dark eyes to his lips, he knew that _this, **this**_ was it – this was when they’d kiss – this was the moment it happened, the moment it all changed –

and then Haddock’s comforting warmth and presence vanished, the familiar sound of the seagulls and the ocean fading into the sounds from a bustling crowd.

Tintin’s hands, now back on his knees, tightened around the fabric of his khaki pants, and he gritted his teeth while screwing his eyes shut. “Here’s your money, sir,” he said, quickly pulling out a handful of coins and all but throwing them at the artist. “I’m sorry, but I have to go home.”

The artist, puzzled and a tad worried, pocketed the money and frowned. “Are you okay, sir?”

Tintin, without looking back at him, barked a fake laugh and said, “Yes, yes. I’m fine.”

He was not fine.

He was furious – at himself, at time, at the whole world putting them into this situation and the never-ending loop of the same days repeated over and over again…

but he could no nothing more until he was reunited with his Captain. With his Haddock.

^

When he reunited with Captain again, however, he found that his lips were glued together and that his tongue refused to move. Even his bravery, glorious as it always had been, cowered in a dark corner of his mind.

Haddock made no move to continue or even talk about what happened on the boat, either – and when time reset itself once more, Tintin kicked the artist’s stool in frustration.

He was still mad, at both himself for not daring, at Captain for not doing anything, at time and the world and the universe and whatever gods might exist – because he’d seen the look in Haddock’s eyes, it had not gone past him, and he could not forget the lingering warmth of his hands on his skin.

Still, he dared not speak nor act – and he didn’t even know why.

*

Tintin had lost count of how many times he’d sat in Captain’s cabin and pondered about the future, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t do it any longer. It was really the only safe place and time they could speak without having to worry about planes, or storms, or people attacking them.

That was a saddening thought.

Then again, the whole thing _was_ a saddening affair…

Tintin buried his head in his hands and sighed. He could feel Haddock’s gaze on him, but he didn’t care. He _couldn’t_ care.

“What have we _not_ done?” he asked tiredly, more to himself than to anyone else. “What is there left to do?”

Captain stood up and walked around the table. “Tintin,” he said softly, before he knelt down on the floor in front of the bench he sat on. He gathered Tintin’s hands in his and looked up at him solemnly.

Tintin knew it didn’t mean what he wanted it to mean. He knew that. But the skin-to-skin contact, the position, the glow in Haddock’s eyes… it made his heart race. God, how could he have been so stupid – how could he not have realized earlier what Captain meant to him? No one had made him feel like this for ages…

“Tintin,” Haddock repeated. “We _will_ find a way out.”

Tintin slid down from the bench and sat down heavily in front of Haddock. He stared at him for a moment, eyes betraying the helplessness and desperation dwelling within his heart, and swallowed. “But what if we don’t?” he whispered. “What if we keep reliving the same four days over and over again? _Forever_?”

“Then we gotta do the best outta it,” Haddock replied, and Tintin lunged forward to wrap his arms around his neck and bury his face in his woolen shirt. The unexpected move caused Captain to lose his balance, and he fell back to the floor with a dull grunt.

Tintin said nothing, only turning his head so he wouldn’t be suffocated by the shirt. He held on for dear life, not wanting to let go nor explain or do anything at all, really. He just – he just needed a hug for a moment. Nothing big.

Haddock didn’t wait for an explanation, and only brought his arms up to wrap around Tintin’s torso, successfully pulling him closer with a deep sigh. “We’ll get out, Tintin,” he whispered reassuringly.

 _I love you_ , Tintin thought, screwing his eyes shut against the pain within himself. _I love you so much_.

He was used to physical pain – he’d survived cold, and broken legs, and cuts and wounds and gunshots and _you name it_. This pain, however? He didn’t know how to handle this. This desperation, frustration and sorrow all at the same time, mingled together with a deeper sadness and worry caused by Captain and his’ relationship status.

Sometimes all he _could_ do was take a moment of peace and share a tight embrace.

*

“This is utterly idiotic,” Tintin muttered, crossing his arms and leaning backwards.

“What is?” Haddock asked.

“This,” Tintin repeated, sweeping one hand in a wide circle. “Everything about this!”

The rhythmic rowing ceased. “I don’t follow ye,” Haddock said. “Everythin’?”

“Everything,” Tintin nodded. “Time resetting itself. Only these four days. No clues as to how we’re going to get out. The same story all over again.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Am I utterly idiotic, as well, then?” Captain asked, raising an eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem like it with the way ye cling to me at every opportunity.”

Tintin blushed furiously and looked away from him. “You’re not utterly idiotic, no,” he muttered. “Actually, you’re the only person I’d like to be stuck in this situation with.”

It was true. Haddock was truly a genius in his own way, and he was a great asset to his team when he was sober. He was strong and a good fighter.

But that wasn’t even half of it. He was funny, and sarcastic, and empathic. He didn’t make fun of Tintin’s desperation to get out of the loop, and he didn’t treat him like his junior even though he was. He just – oh, Tintin didn’t even have words. He didn’t need many of them, either – just three, and a whole lot of courage.

It wasn’t as easy to say _I love you_ as he’d thought when he was younger.

“Tintin,” Captain said. “I don’t -”

“Captain,” Tintin interrupted, looking down at his lap with a tight expression. “Haddock. I know.”

*

“Do ye remember everything that happened the first time?” Haddock asked, the next time Tintin came stumbling through his window.

“Uh,” said Tintin, who was a bit surprised by the sudden and unexpected question. “Most of it, yes.”

“The dialogue, as well?” Captain asked, grasping Tintin’s shoulders and staring intently at him.

Again Tintin nodded. “Most of it, yes. I have a very good memory.”

Haddock let his hands fall from Tintin’s shoulders and smiled sadly. “We’ve done everything else we can think of,” he said. “Why not try and do it exactly the same way it happened the first time? If nothing else, it will be a nice challenge, eh?”

Tintin did, at this point, not care one bit what they did, as long as they tried new ways to get out of the loop.

There was no hesitation behind his nod.

“Let’s do that,” he said. “Next re-live, though. I haven’t been following the script up to now, anyways.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “No drinking.”

“Aye,” Haddock agreed. “No drinking. But even in private – let’s try and keep it as correct as possible.”

Tintin nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that will prove quite the challenge,” he said, and grinned. “I’m in.”

*

Tintin felt – almost gleeful, as he stumbled in through the round window. Finally, a change to their routine – and a welcome one, at that! They were making it a game, now. Maybe it would brighten it up a bit. He certainly felt happier already.

“Ah, so you thought you could sneak in behind me and catch me with my trousers down, eh?”

Tintin spun around, facing Haddock – but no, he was Captain now, wasn’t he? – who was glaring mockingly at him. He reached out after the stick – club? Walking cane? He didn’t know – lying on Captain’s desk to block the incoming swipe of his spyglass.

“I’d rather you kept your trousers _on_ , if it’s all the same to you!” Tintin replied quickly, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. It was a lie and he knew it.

They continued the mock-battle, Tintin opened the “locked” door and insulted Captain’s ship, before walking out into the hallway. He didn’t have to wait very long for the crewman to come parading down the hall carrying a tray with a bottle of whiskey and a glass, and together he and Captain finished him off. Not killed him, mind you, just knocking him out. They’d had enough death for a while.

“I’m Tintin, by the way,” Tintin said, and offered his hand for Captain to shake.

There was a glint in his eye when he replied, “Haddock. Archibald Haddock. Do try and remember it, this time.”

Tintin chuckled, warmth blooming through his chest, and gestured for Haddock to continue.

“Ah, aye!” He cleared his throat. “There’s a longboat up on deck. Follow me.” He exited through the door as Tintin feigned surprise.

“Did you say _Haddock_?” he called out, rushing after him with a grin on his lips. This was going to be fun.

^

“You wouldn’t happen to be related to the Haddocks of Marlinspike Hall, would you?” Tintin whispered, just a few moments later.

Captain stopped. “Why do ye ask?”

Tintin shrugged as Captain made his way across the gap in the wall. “It’s for a story I’m working on,” he explained. “An old shipwreck that happened off the coat of Barbados. A man o’ war. Triple masted. Fifty guns.”

Captain looked at him solemnly from across the gap and gestured for him to come closer – and Tintin eagerly did, although he knew what was waiting for him.

The moment he set foot back into safe territory, Captain twisted around and pinned him to the wall, arm coming up to press against his chest.

Tintin’s heart very nearly stopped.

“What do you know of the unicorn?” Captain spat, leaning closer, and Tintin suddenly felt incredibly lightheaded – he was so warm and he smelled so _nice_ – as he unconsciously rose one hand to gently brush the pads of his fingers across the back of Captain’s hand.

“I -” Tintin said, but he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to say, Captain was too close and he was so very desirable and Tintin couldn’t, he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ –

he lunged forward and mashed their lips together without thinking, one hand instantly going to Haddock’s side and the other to his face.

Haddock grunted in surprise, but after only a moment he kissed back, one hand going to the small of Tintin’s back to pull him closer, the other wrapping around his shoulders.

Tintin had never felt more relieved in his entire life, because if Haddock kissed him back it must mean something, he hadn’t been hallucinating or imagining things when they nearly kissed the last time, and _oh_ he couldn’t bring himself to think as Haddock deepened the kiss –

it was a desperate kiss, a sloppy kiss, a soft and fragile yet fierce and strong kiss, and Tintin knew, he _knew_ , that this was all he would ever need. The hand that previously had been cupping Haddock’s face now went further back to tangle into his mess of a hair, helping him to deepen the kiss further –

and then Haddock broke it, but he didn’t step back, he only pulled back a little bit to meet Tintin’s gaze. “Tintin?” he breathed, confused frown marring his brow.

“I love you,” Tintin interrupted, the hand that was in Haddock’s hair twitching a bit, but otherwise not moving. His heart was, once more, beating against his ribs so hard that he feared it might break them. “I just wanted you to know.”

Haddock was silent for a moment, and then a slow smile spread across his lips. “I love ye as well, Tintin,” he said softly, and Tintin’s heart _exploded_. “How long have ye -”

“I don’t know,” Tintin replied, not capable of keeping the smile off his face. “I realized for a long time ago.”

Haddock blinked, and then shrugged. “Fair enough,” he whispered. “How do we do this?”

“Let’s continue as we have,” Tintin said. “Just – know that I love you. Okay?”

Haddock’s only reply was to press their lips together again, softer this time, and he pulled back before Tintin could deepen it. “Aye,” he said, and winked.

Then he turned around to face the door on the opposite side of the hall. He opened it with a loud moan, and wailed, “I’d forgotten it all!”

It took Tintin a moment to realize what he was doing, and then he lit up and followed him.

^

Tintin wrinkled his nose. “Do I really have to go get the keys again?”

Captain made a shooing motion with his hands and scowled. “Go! Go get the keys from the Keeper! We’re supposed to follow every last word!”

“Fine, fine,” Tintin grumbled, making his way over to the cabin where some of the crew slept.

He proceeded to do all the same things as he did the first time – and still didn’t wake up a single crewman. Feeling oddly proud of himself he strutted out of the room, where Haddock smiled widely at him and kissed him briefly before rushing over to the door.

Tintin blinked for a moment, hand going up to touch his lips in surprise. A wide smile spread across his face, then, as he realized what the contact meant, and his heart ached with a good pain he was unfamiliar with.

^

Tintin was pleasantly surprised when he managed to hop into the lifeboat without being shot. The hardest part to survive was passed! Now, if they just managed to stay out of the ship’s way, and weren’t shot by the plane, or died in the Sahara, or had a really bad crash, or…

Oh, crumbs. This was going to be harder than he thought.

^

They both knew that they would survive the supposed “ship crash”.

That did not stop them from holding hands.

^

Haddock grimaced. “Do I really have to do this?” he asked, scowling at the oar in his hand as if it had personally wronged it.

Tintin shrugged. “Probably.”

“I don’t know when yer gonna wake up,” Haddock muttered. “I don’ like this.”

“Hit me, Haddock,” Tintin said. “It’s the safest.”

Captain frowned at him for a moment before nodding once, determinedly, and said, “I am master and commander of the seas,” while he turned around.

Tintin screwed his eyes shut, prepared for the oar to hit him, and went unconscious.

^

Later, when they were in the plane, Tintin knew that Captain drank half the bottle of alcohol only very grudgingly. Mostly because he, during all of their other re-lives through this sequence, had never once touched the bottle. He admired and approved of his determination to keep this as true to the first go as possible – and also, of course, of his determination to stay alcohol-free.

“Captain!” he cried, once he “noticed” that they were running low on fuel. “This may sound crazy, but I think I might have a plan! The alcohol in that bottle might be able to take us a few more miles – and I need you to go out there and pour it into the fuel tank.”

He felt strangely calm, knowing exactly what was coming now – but still, the moment Captain opened the door and Tintin realized what he was sending him into, his heart stuttered in terror.

“Wait, Haddock,” Tintin said, softly, and Haddock instantly stopped. They’d come to the unspoken agreement that _Captain_ was when they were “in role”, while _Haddock_ was when they were not – and so Haddock understood that what Tintin wanted to say was important. “Come over here.”

Haddock sneaked his way over, and Tintin hurriedly pulled him down for a quick kiss. It didn’t last long, of course, as he was very happy with seeing where he was flying, but it _was a kiss_ , and that was enough right then and there.

Ignoring the surprised noises from the back of the plane, Tintin smiled softly up at him. “Be careful out there, will you?” he said. “I’d rather not do it all again.”

Haddock smiled back at him, just as softly – if not more -, and said, “Of course,” in the gentlest voice Tintin had ever heard him use.

^

“Show yourself, Red Rakham!” Captain yelled, and Tintin leaned against the doorframe with a mighty grin. He looked forward to the show. Captain did get very involved in all his story tellings, after all.

Then, a bit later, when the fan fell from the roof and knocked Captain off the table, Tintin rushed over to “rescue” him from the wrath of the terrified soldiers. “Wait!” he said, to the mentioned soldiers, before falling to his knees in front of Captain and pushing the wooden fan aside. “Captain,” he breathed, leaning forward to put his hands on his knees.

“I remember everything now,” Captain muttered, but then he looked up and into Tintin’s eyes, and there was a distinctive glow of _happiness_ and something _else_ inside of them. He licked his lips, tilting his head slightly, and the invitation did not go unpassed by Tintin. “Tintin…” Haddock muttered, and Tintin leaned forward to capture his lips in a soft kiss.

“Yes,” Tintin whispered into the kiss. “I know. Continue.”

And Captain did.

^

Right afterwards, after Captain had hurled them out through the window and they landed in the carriage filled with hay, Tintin laughed brightly. “You are a _great_ actor, Haddock,” he said, and Haddock smiled at him – but wasted no time on formalities, and in one swift move he captured Tintin’s lips with his, one hand going up to tangle in his hair and the other pulling him closer.

Tintin didn’t complain, and eagerly pushed on until he had Haddock on his back and his hands on his hips.

“Tintin,” Haddock breathed, and Tintin moved from his mouth to his neck, trailing kisses down the warm skin and biting gently whenever he felt like it. Haddock inhaled sharply below him and arched his neck to give Tintin better access.

Tintin took full advantage of this, of course, and grinded his hips down as he continued the assault of Haddock’s neck – which, really, only made Haddock gasp and buck his own hips.

The spark of pleasure that flared in Tintin’s stomach made him acutely aware of the situation they were in, and he quickly pulled back, sporting a light blush. “Not here,” he hissed, and Haddock made an expression of disbelief and shock. “Sorry,” Tintin said, grinning sheepishly as he scratched at the back of his neck. “I, er, forgot where we were.”

Haddock let his head fall back to rest in the hay. “Of all the blasted baby-faced assassins,” he grumbled. “It had to be the blasted Tintin.”

Tintin snickered, climbed out of the carriage, and held out a hand for Haddock to take. “I’m not saying no,” he reminded him. “Just that right now is a horrible timing.”

“Aye, aye,” Haddock muttered. “I know.”

Tintin saw his grin, though, and his heart swelled within his chest.

^

“Here, I want you to have this,” Tintin said quietly, handing Captain his scroll.

“Me?” Captain breathed, backing away and holding up his hands.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“If I’m caught, I don’t want them to find this on me,” Tintin said, and grabbed Captain’s hand to press the old paper into his palm. “Look, just keep it hidden!”

Captain lowered himself to his knees, while still grasping Tintin’s hand between two of his, and whispered “I will guard it with my life!”

Tintin smiled down at him, blushing slightly, and decided to go off script. “I know you did, Haddock,” he said, and Haddock blinked before smiling brightly at him.

Tintin pulled him to his feet and pressed their lips together in yet another chaste kiss that only made him want more – and when he pulled away and his hands came to rest on Haddock’s chest, he refused to back off. He _needed_ these short, intense moments of heat and affection and love.

He rested his forehead against Haddock’s and smiled softly. “Just don’t do it this time, yeah? If we’re keeping to script you shouldn’t be able to defeat them,” he said, and met Haddock’s gaze with ease. He held it for a moment before snorting and looking away. “Damn it all, I’m having a good time,” he said, and knew that it was no lie.

“So am I, Tintin,” Haddock replied, hands resting lightly on Tintin’s hips. “So am I.”

^

“Captain!” Tintin called out, pushing through the crowd to get to his Captain, who was knocking out guards left and right. “Sakharine’s got the scroll!” he said, as they hurried their way through the arch and out towards the exit.

“It’s worse than that,” Captain muttered, and Tintin heard the echo of pain and guilt and terror and had to stop right then and there.

“Haddock,” he said, sharply, and Haddock stopped as well to give him a surprised look. Before he said anything more he pinned him against the wall and proceeded to kiss him fiercely. “Haddock, I don’t blame you for what happened,” he said, to a dazzled and unfocused Haddock, when he broke off the kiss. “You know that, right? I love you.”

“A - aye,” Haddock stuttered, and a moment later, when his eyes cleared up, he nodded. There was relief in his gaze. “Aye, I know.”

“Good,” Tintin said. “Now hurry, before it’s too late!”

And with that he took off at a run to find the motorbike he’d droved so many times before.

^

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Sakharine drawled, and Tintin twisted around to glare at him. “Let the bird go. What do you value more; those scrolls, or Haddock’s life?”

 _Haddock’s life_ , Tintin thought. _A thousand times Haddock’s life_.

“Don’t listen to him!” Captain growled, from on land. “Ye’ll never get away with this, you sassonack!”

Tintin snorted. He loved the man’s insults.

^

“Nobody takes my ship!” Captain spat.

“They’ve already taken it,” Tintin reminded him.

“Nobody takes my ship _twice_ , then!” He growled and turned around to look at Tintin. “We’ll show them, eh, won’t we, Tintin? So what’s the plan?”

“There is no plan,” Tintin sighed.

“Of course there’s a plan,” Captain scoffed. “Ye’ve always got a plan!”

“Not this time,” Tintin said, and shook his head. “Sakharine has the scrolls. They’ll take him to the treasure. It could be anywhere in the world. We’ll never see him again.”

“I thought ye were an optimist!” Captain exclaimed, and internally Tintin grinned. Honestly, they were both good actors.

“Well, you were wrong, weren’t you?” Tintin said as he stood up from the beach chair. “I’m a _realist_.”

“That’s just another name for a _quitter_ ,” Captain growled, and took a step closer.

“You can call me what you like,” Tintin informed him curtly, scowling lightly at him. “Don’t you get it? We _failed_.”

“Failed,” Captain repeated, and something within his eyes lit up like a thousand suns. “There are plenty of others willing to call ye a failure,” he said, poking Tintin in the chest and forcing him to take a step backward. “A fool,” he added, and poked Tintin again. “A hopeless souse! But don’t you _ever_ ,” he growled, and pushed Tintin down into the beach chair, “say it off yourself.”

Tintin knew that he wasn’t done yet, that there were still far more lines left before they could call this re-live a tie, but by _Jupiter_ Haddock was so close – he was hovering above him, and _oh_ , just like it had done so many weeks ago, arousal coiled at the bottom of his stomach – but this time, instead of fighting it, Tintin accepted it and pulled Haddock down to smash their lips together in a clumsy kiss.

He had no idea if the beach chair would tolerate the weight of the two of them, but he didn’t, _couldn’t,_ care, and only hummed approvingly as Haddock kissed him back and soundlessly asked for entrance with his tongue.

A moment later he was moving further down, leaving kisses and bites all across Tintin’s jawbone and neck. “Oh, _Merlin_ ,” Tintin breathed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back as he cupped the back of Haddock’s head with one hand, fingers tightening around a fistful of dark hair. “Yes, that’s – _oh_ -”

Haddock chuckled against his skin, and Tintin could feel his gaze on him. “A loud one, are ye?”

“Shut up,” Tintin hissed. “Shut up and go on.”

Haddock didn’t need any further prompting, and returned to biting his way down Tintin’s neck, leaving several marks on his way, Tintin was sure.

Not that he minded.

“Oh my,” a voice interrupted, and Tintin’s eyes snapped open as Haddock jumped away from him.

Thomson and Thompson – he’d absolutely forgotten that they were supposed to come running down the promenade after Haddock’s encouraging speech.

Tintin blushed furiously as he hurried to stumble his way out of the beach chair. “Thompson and Thomson,” he greeted, blush growing stronger as he straightened his shirt and pulled at the neck of it to try and cover more skin.

“Tintin,” the two of them greeted back, nodding at him, before turning to Haddock. “And who are you?”

“Captain Archibald Haddock,” Haddock replied proudly, walking up to stand beside Tintin and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Tintin’s… _partner_ ,” he added, voice dropping a pitch at the word ‘partner’.

Tintin’s blush had just begun to calm down, but now it flared back to life and he covered his face with his hands and smiled.

This wasn’t exactly the way he had planned for this event to go.

^

Tintin ran as fast as his legs could carry him, grabbed ahold of the same rope he’d used the first time around, and hurled himself forward.

“Everything that is rightfully yours is now _mine_ ,” he heard Sakharine say, and the deep-seated hate he felt for the man burst and boiled and was just too much for him to contain.

“Not everything, no!” he cried, as he flew past and tore the scrolls right out of Sakharine’s hand. He landed smoothly on top of a staircase a few feet away, and spun around to snarl at Sakharine. “You haven’t got _me_.”

Captain punched Sakharine and kicked the whiskey bottle off the ship – and then, in the distance, the sky began to brighten.

Tintin hurried down from the stairs, nearly falling in his haste to get over to Captain, and when he got there he grinned at him before taking the scrolls and holding them up towards the sunrise.

“Do you see?” he whispered, and he felt Captain’s featherlight touch on his arm and shuddered.

“Blistering barnacles, they’re _coordinates_ ,” Captain breathed, and again, he was so close – he was always close, had he always been that close?

It took the dazzled Tintin a moment to realize that he was supposed to speak. “It took all three of them to form the numbers!”

“Latitude and longtitude,” Captain smiled. “That is it! That’s the location to the treasure!”

The both of them turned to the other, smiling widely, and Tintin knew that the joy they felt right now was genuine, even though they’d known that this would happen all along.

Tintin initiated the hug, this time, and when he released Haddock he kissed him soundly before laughing. “To think, we got this far!” he said, and Haddock laughed as well.

“Aye, but we’re not done yet, luv,” he reminded him, and –

Tintin’s heart missed a beat.

“What did you say?” Tintin whispered, chest tightening in the way that was painful but yet not. “What did you call me?”

“Ah…” Haddock muttered, looking away and scratching his neck. “I called ye luv. Sorry.”

Tintin took a step forward and hugged him again, but this time it was far tighter than the joyous hopping around they’d done moments ago. “Don’t apologize, are you mad?” he whispered. “Haddock, call me whatever you’d like!”

Haddock’s breath shuddered when he released it, and then he hugged Tintin back, just as tightly as Tintin hugged him. “Aye, lad,” he said, and Tintin could hear that he was smiling. “And it’s the same for ye. Call me whatever.”

Tintin had already known that he could call him whatever he’d like, but the invitation to do so was certainly not unwelcome.

He smiled, bright and wide, and tightened the hug.

^

“…a man, who could look at a globe, and tell if _one tiny island_ was out of place,” Tintin whispered, finishing his last line.

He could see warmth and fear in Captain’s eyes, and as he slowly reached out to press the “one tiny island”, his hand shook. His fingers hovered above the island for a few seconds, but he made no move to continue and press it, and Tintin sighed softly.

“Haddock,” he murmured, grabbing his hand and holding it between his. Haddock looked up from the globe and over at him, and the fear was more evident now. “Haddock, love, it’s _fine_. I’ll come find you. You know that.”

Haddock swallowed, heavily, and nodded tightly. “Aye,” he muttered. “Ye’ll find me. Ye better do.”

Tintin smiled a soft, encouraging smile, and guided Haddock’s hand over to the island. He shut his eyes as Captain’s hand moved from underneath his, and waited for the air around him to change from old and dusty to warm and stirring –

but nothing happened.

When he opened his eyes again he was still staring straight at Haddock, who’s eyes had gone wider than ever before – and the top of the globe had popped off.

They had never come this far before. Always, always, _always_ time reset itself when Haddock opened the globe – and sometimes even before that.

Tintin looked from the globe to Haddock, eyes widening to almost the double size. “-did we do it?” he whispered harshly. “Is it over?”

Haddock blinked two times – and then he smiled, wide and bright and beautiful, and before Tintin could think about what was happening Haddock let out a loud cry of joy. “We did it!” he cried, and pulled Tintin close in a bone-crushing hug. “The loop ended!”

Tintin wanted to be happy – he really, really wanted to – but he couldn’t. Not yet. “Not so fast, Haddock,” he said softly, patting Haddock’s shoulder. “Remember how it went the first time? We went to bed _today_ , and still woke up again.”

Haddock’s face fell, and Tintin broke a little on the inside at being the cause of his – boyfriend’s? Lover’s? Partner’s? – pain. “So we have to wait until later to see. Well,” Haddock muttered. “I damn well know a way that we can make the day pass quickly.”

“Oh?” Tintin asked, blinking in confusion. “Whatever might that b _– mfh!_ ”

Haddock gave no reply, of course, since his mouth was quite busy assaulting _Tintin’s_ mouth, and Tintin wasted no time in melting into the kiss.

That was an acceptable way to have the day pass, he had to admit. Good thinking from Haddock’s part.

^

Tintin awoke slowly, sunbeams gently rousing him from his deep sleep.

He blinked and squinted, trying to remember where he was – and then the last day and part of the night came back to him. He blushed, but couldn’t keep back the smile nor the warm, beautiful pain that bloomed throughout his entire body.

Haddock was sleeping next to him, bare-chested and snoring gently, and when Tintin laid eyes upon him the smile widened, and the warm pain increased.

Perhaps describing the sensation as _pain_ wasn’t exactly right – but it was a sort of pain, wasn’t it? Yet it was the only pain Tintin had ever welcomed and wanted more of.

It was first then that he realized what it meant that they were both in the same bed. He sat up straight, eyes going wide and mouth falling open.

“Haddock!” he cried, twisting to place a palm flat against Haddock’s chest.

Haddock woke with a start. “Wha – where? What? When?”

“The loop,” Tintin breathed, and smiled widely in relief. “The loop! We ended it!”

Haddock blinked, and he seemed to melt in relief when he realized exactly what Tintin was saying. “Told ye,” he whispered, reaching up with one hand to pull Tintin closer. Their lips met in a now _very_ familiar move, and Tintin didn’t hesitate in changing his position so he was straddling Haddock’s hips – and of course, one thing led to another, like things often did between them.

^

Half an hour later, Tintin was cuddled up next to Haddock in the large bed, head resting on his chest. “I love you,” he said softly.

Haddock’s chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I love ye, too, Tintin.”

“Four days isn’t that much time to fall in love, though,” Tintin mused with a grin.

“I saw ye die,” Haddock said solemnly, and Tintin’s grin vanished instantly. “On several occasions. That was not just four days, Tintin.” Here he took a break to thread his fingers into Tintin’s hair and proceeded to toy with it. He was gentle, as if he thought that Tintin could be broken by an action that soft.

Tintin felt as if he might.

“But it was the start of something great, wasn’t it?” he said, and smiled softly.

“Oh?”

“The start of _us_ , you goof,” Tintin clarified, rolling his eyes jokingly.

Haddock chuckled. “Aye, luv,” he sighed happily. “It was the start of somethin’ great.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! You there! Yes, you! Do you want me to write a fanfic for you? Yes? All you have to do is draw me a piece of fanart! Leave a comment if you're interested, and I'll get in contact with you :D
> 
> (you will have to draw fandom-blind, and I'll have to see some of your previous works. length, styles, and other things can be discussed upon further between the two of us.)
> 
> (yes this is still active)


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